The Stand
by ErisandDysnomia
Summary: " In fact, she already had a plan formulating in her head, and it was time to scrap any trace of Eater from this wall. This wall would belong to her in the end, she was freakin' sure of it." Street Art/Tagger AU. Rated for language and future adult content.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:**

**Tag, You're It**

* * *

Soul Evans was a petulant child.

He was well aware of this fact as he shook the can of black paint in his hand a few times, staring up at the newest street sign that was to be the newest victim in the 'Soul Likes to Piss off His Brother' Game that seemed to span from their apartment building, all the way to the fancy university, where his brother worked. He had chosen a sign that Wes wouldn't be able to avoid either; Soul glared at it through the bangs his favorite black beanie pushed against his forehead.

Wes had never really understood his little brother, and Soul had never faulted him for that. He was still offering to try, which was why Soul lived with him in Death City, while going to school. He and his parents had a bit of a falling out, that had ended up being more death match than actual conversation. He could still feel his father's voice shaking the table, and his mother crying while he and his father's fight had just escalated since neither side was willing to waver. Wes had stepped in after a few days, and told his parents that Soul could come live with him, and go to school in Death City. It had worked for him, and his father had only agreed if Soul promised to keep playing the piano while he was with his brother. It was a rule Wes had never tried to enforce, and Soul was grateful.

However, it wasn't enough to stop him from continuing the game. It wasn't much of a game though, he mused as he pulled the black bandana up over to cover both his mouth and nose, because his brother didn't really have a way to fight back. As understanding as his older brother tried to be, he really was not a fan of Soul's little late night hobby. Soul could almost understand where his brother was coming from, it had to be annoying when you came home and your apartment smelt of nothing but spray paint, but still, it's not like his brother's ravings about his 'delinquent past time' and 'blatant law breaking' were ever going to hit home. If anything, they just annoyed him, which pushed him to insist on "vandalizing" the street signs on his brother's commute. Wes always saw them, and he knew it was his little brother, and he got more than a kick out of it. There was something satisfying about having his brother come home, face irritated, knowing that Soul was the one who had blatantly destroyed the city property, and Wes being able to do absolutely nothing about it.

Well, maybe next time his older brother would think twice before making fun of his drawings.

Carefully, Soul brought the nozzle up to the sign and pressed lightly, a stream of black paint following the predetermined path set in the young man's head. It was quick, and even, with the mastery of someone who knew exactly how to handle the airborne paint, to create a smooth even backwards 3, mirroring the one already one the sign that declared the 30 mile per hour speed limit. Well, it had been 30, now after his slight alteration, the sign read 80, and his work for the night was done. Sure, he hadn't actually done anything big, but he did help Black*Star find a few new places to keep adding his tag, which he hardly counted as street art, but his friend had a talent for tagging untaggable places. It wasn't Soul's style, but he was impressed by his friend's ability to squeeze it in anywhere, and still have it be the most noticed. With a final glance at the new sign, he smirked, and tossed the paint into his backpack, and pulled the bandana back down, starting his trek back to the apartment.

It was halfway back that he realized something was wrong. He blinked once before looking to his left, down a familiar alleyway. Flowers. He was facing flowers. Four flowers. All done in an intricate line work pattern that was completely dependent on the thin lines that shaped each petal. They weren't bad, not in the slightest. Actually, he was impressed with the line quality, which was damn near flawless, but the lines were thin, neat and precise. Had to be from a marker, it was the only way it could be so fucking neat, but even that wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was that it was painted here. Painted on that particular wall.

That was _not_ how he left the thing.

"What the holy _fuck_ is this shit?!" He shouted into the black night, his voice echoing against the worn walls of the alley. "You have got to be KIDDING ME! God, as if buffing me isn't bad enough, look at those fucking lines, those are way too fine, bastard's using markers too! Cop-out, pansy, dick! It's almost more insulting this way, and I just-"

Someone had buffed him! _Him!_ Soul wasn't vain enough to consider himself all-city, but he also wasn't modest enough to not be insulted by this blatant disregard for his work. Actually, he was livid about it. His piece, which now lay dormant underneath the flowers, and line art, and, God help him, _markers_, used to be a crumbling city. Adorned with chunks of broken buildings, the cityscape had been dark, desolate and beautiful, pain embedded in the pull of the paint, and the splattering of color he'd managed to use to create the army of the forsaken. It had been his first real throw up, something that hadn't just been his tag, or for fun. It had actually meant something.

And some fucking newbie shows up, after two years, and _covers it_, like they didn't give a shit about the artist who had put it up. His rubicund eyes scanned the wall, searching to see who had done this, checking for familiar tags, or styles but it was new. All of it was new, new lines, new style, nothing he'd ever seen before. Finally, down in the corner, nearly hidden by the line art, was a pair of wings.

Wings.

Fucking angel wings.

No, he'd never seen that tag before, ever. Wings…who the fuck was "Wings"!? He'd never seen it before…

This was not happening. The anger already singing in his blood soared to epic proportions, and he had to resist the urge not to immediately start into retaliation right then and there. He'd need more time to look at it, to plan, and he'd need to see it in the daylight. But, fuck it all, he had never been angrier in his life.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, hoping it had just been a trick of the yellowing streetlights and shadows up against the wall that made him see thing that weren't there. Maybe this abstracted flower field done with intricate lines and marker strokes wasn't actually there, and his red world was still burning, maybe there weren't actual angel wings in the corner, the tag as mocking as it was ironic...maybe Soul just hadn't slept well for the last few days, and was seeing things.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again.

"OKAY, FUCK THIS. I AM NOT GETTING CALLED OUT BY A FREAKING ANGEL OF ALL THINGS!"

* * *

Wes knew something was wrong when his brother slammed the door, in an obvious conversation with himself.

"Some freakin' Angel. _An Angel._ How am I even supposed to justify them buffing me?! I didn't do anything to them, and that fucking piece has been up on that wall for two fucking years-"

"Hey Soul." Wes called from his chair, book of sheet music in his hand. He was trying to figure out exactly what he was going to teach his students next, while his brother walked right past him, the strong scent of spray paint following him. "And how are you?"

"-And not only that, but they didn't even give warning or anything!? How long ago did they even try that?! It looked new, and fuck, how did I miss that going up!? I should've seen it right away. Fuck!"

Wes sighed, and went back to his sheet music, leaving his brother to his one sided conversation. When Soul was upset, talking to himself was how he dealt with it. Although, it often worried Wes, Soul never seemed to actually answer his own questions, so the eldest Evans just thanked God for small victories as he listened to his brother's continued ranting.

Finally, after a plate of food had been heated up, and Soul had come back into the living room dressed in a pair of sweats, scratching at the tattoos covering his arms, his hair freed from the black beanie and flying in every which direction. He finally stopped his bitching, and took a minute to breathe. Wes decided this was as good a time as any. "So, what's got your panties in a twist?"

"I got fucking buffed."

"…You know I don't know what that means."

"It means some bitch covered up one of my pieces." His little brother snarled, and shoved a forkful of old Chinese into his mouth. "Like completely. It's fucking gone now."

"Oh." Wes lifted an eyebrow. As much as he hated his little brother's stupid hobby, he could understand how that would absolutely suck. Soul did put a lot of effort into his work, usually, if it wasn't another one of the street signs his brother kept sacrificing to see how many it would take until Wes did completely lose his mind, and it couldn't be easy to see it covered. "Well, that's shit."

"Complete shit." Soul agreed, but his look was less angry and more thoughtful. "It's okay though, I'm already working on how to get them back-"

"Whoa! Nope! Gonna stop you there!" The eldest dropped his music, both hand in the air. "Shhh! I don't want to be an accessory, or have any part in your delinquent hobbies, little brother."

"Well, you're no fun. Besides, it's not like you're not going to see it anyways."

"I like to drive to work and pretend it's someone else's little brother causing them such a headache."

"That ain't me." Soul argued through bites of food. "Tha's the paint. I'm awesome."

"You're both equally good at giving me headaches; don't make me choose a victor."

"Don't pick on me Wes, or I'll see how interesting I can really make your commute."

Wes could see his brother smirk as he felt his own face pale at the idea. "I'll send you back to mom and dad, don't you test me."

"No you won't."

A sigh filled their living room. "No, I won't."

* * *

She woke up to her father's yelling.

Maka was already annoyed, because her early class had been cancelled, and she could've gotten at least another hour of sleep before her father had busted in, raving and ranting about something as usual. With the undeniable knowledge she'd be unable to sleep again, she got herself out of bed, and stumbled downstairs, towards the noise her father was making.

In the kitchen, she found him slamming cupboards, his anger apparently leaving him to forget where they kept the coffee cups. "You alright, Papa?"

"Oh! Good morning, Maka sweetheart." Her father smiled before continuing his tirade against every appliance and plate in their kitchen, still trying to search out of coffee cups. She only rolled her eyes, before fetching him a cup, and handing it over to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, I just got pulled over for going 75 in an 80." He growled, and filled the cup he was handed with the coffee he'd brewed before he'd gone to guest lecture at Maka's school. "Which, was actually a 30 zone, but me, and the rest of the driving world had been screwed over because some little _asshole_ somewhere thought it would be funny to tamper with street signs."

Maka had to hide a laugh with a quick, and sudden coughing fit, but her father still sent a halfhearted glare her way. "And the cop that pulled you over didn't cut you a break? You're brothers in blue."

"Not when the cop that pulls you over happens to be the husband of your last-" Spirit tried to stop himself, but it was too late. Maka flinched, and shook her head.

"Sounds to me like you deserved it just fine."

"Maka-"

"And I don't need the ride today, Papa. I'll walk." She turned her back on her father, and went towards the stairs, where a warm shower would help her restart her day, this time, without her father's slutty ways bringing her down. Besides, she needed to walk home. She wanted to check on the work she'd done a few days ago on the other side of the city.

Swallowing hard, she started up the water in her shower, and pulled off her shirt. God, she still got a rush of energy from just _thinking _about what it had been like to take the colors in her hand, and with a few short strokes, completely create something new and beautiful. And she knew that it was still illegal, and it was vandalism, and a bunch of other horrid words, she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

Under the spray of the water, Maka let out the breath she had been holding since her father had come back, and she allowed herself to breathe. She only had to make it through finals week, and then she'd be free. The house would be empty, with her father taking more shifts at Death City PD, but she'd be free to roam around the city without her father interfering, or anything other than her job at the bookstore tying her down. She knew that once summer was officially hers, she would be spending more time sneaking around at night, leaving her mark on Death City as often as she could.

Illegal or not, it was something she couldn't ignore anymore. She'd always had the urge to try a street piece but as the daughter of a detective who instilled a strong belief in rules and regulations, Maka had been hesitant it though, right up until her father's faults began making themselves more known.

It wasn't just withheld teenage rebellion for her either; she wanted to work on something bigger, something that she could really get into. She'd filled countless canvases with lines, brush strokes, patterns and emotions, but it just hadn't been enough for her. But what she'd done on that wall four days ago, that had felt real, it felt real, and tangible, and more honest than anything she'd done in a very long while. She didn't even care that they were flowers, or if they were girly, they had looked freaking amazing, and she was proud of them.

Yeah, she'd go check them out after school, stop and get some more markers, because she got paid last Friday, and she had yet to even touch any of the money. Yeah, if she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, she could make today be alright for her.

* * *

Nothing was going to make today alright for her.

Not that school was especially difficult, but with finals week coming up, Maka had been nothing but stressed. Her father wasn't helping, work wasn't helping, and nothing had gone right today. She had at least three study guides to do, and work had called asking her to work double this weekend, which meant more money, but it also meant she'd need to get all her work done this week, and she just wanted to be done. She was convinced that she really couldn't have a worse Monday.

Oh, she had been wrong.

She stood where her mural should be, but it wasn't, not anymore. Instead, there was something she actually couldn't identify. They could be classified as radioactive tadpoles, or maybe even glowing semen. Regardless of what they were, they completely encompassed her flowers. The bold, fat chunks of color that blended into each other, giving the radioactive _whatevers_ a luminescent glow, told her that this was the work of a spray paint purist.

What a traditionalist, snobbish _asshole_.

In between four glowy sperm, was written something in the most obnoxious script she'd ever seen in her life. Maka had spent the last ten minutes trying to figure out if it was even in _English_ much less what the fucking thing said.

"Eater." She hissed as the scribbling in front of her finally matched up with the alphabet. Oh, she'd seen his tag before, although, she couldn't for the life of her understand why Eater would use something so nondescript and weird for his tag. Maybe the fabled street artist was, at heart, just another idiot like the rest of the male world. Oh yes, Eater was male, of that much she was sure.

And he had just pissed off the _wrong_ person.

She didn't care if she was a newbie, or if she wasn't a fucking _traditionalist_, Eater wasn't going to do that to her, she wasn't just going to let this fucking disrespect happen. She was Maka fucking Albarn, and she would not take the disrespect of her work so lightly. In fact, she already had a plan formulating in her head, and it was time to scrap any trace of Eater from this wall.

This wall would belong to her in the end, she was fucking sure of it.

* * *

**So, once again, Awesomeasusual strikes. Hope you like it Awesome! And ladies and gentlemen, Tagger AU! Will be rated for swearing, and well, future things. Future adult things.**

**Also, HUGE THANK YOU TO ODAT. SHE'S GOT 15% OWNERSHIP, AND SHE'S BETA, AND SHE'S DRAWN ME STUFF. FOUR FOR YOU ODAT! YOU GO ODAT! I LOVE YOU!**

**Hope you all enjoy!**

**-Eris**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

**When A Good Man Goes To War**

* * *

The scariest thing about coffee was that it was just as feisty as a human being.

Soul had learned that lesson the hard way after he had been hired at a tiny little coffee shop a couple years ago. He had been looking for a job, any job, and had at first scoffed at the idea of being a barista. Even Wes hadn't seemed too against the idea of finding a different job; they just didn't really see him as a "Starbucks Bitch" in the younger Evans' own colorful words. However, after a few months, they had both been shocked to find out that Soul was practically a coffee God.

It was working at this place that Soul had met Black*Star. An extreme case of walking narcissism, the blued haired boy with the star tattoo on his shoulder has quickly made friends with the scowling albino. Black*Star, who never offered a last name, slowly became a permanent fixture in Soul's life, and it just so happened to be that idiot who had encouraged Soul to try tagging. And because Soul could justify Black*Star getting him into the game, he could justify bitching about it to him too.

Recent showdown with Angel still in his mind, Soul wasn't in the best mood as she slammed a lid on the drink he'd just finished, and called it the long complicated name, watching as some girl he was pretty sure he went to school with skipped over to get her drink, and shot him a wink over the lid. He grinned back, and gave her a glance over as she walked back to her seat until Black*Star snorted at his side. Soul glanced over at his friend, scowl taking its rightful place on his face. "What?"

"Your problem isn't this Angel; your problem is you need to get laid."

"Oh, fuck you."

"No, fuck _her_."

"Shut up, getting laid isn't my problem." The white haired boy hissed between his peculiar teeth, and adjusted the beanie on his head, surveying the shop to make sure that there wasn't a straggler down by the resister. "My problem is a snotty little crayon artists who thinks she can doodle wherever she wants."

"How do you know Angel is a girl?"

"You didn't see these fucking flowers, it was a girl dude. Swear."

"Oh, cuz you've never met a single person who, if they decided to start tagging, they wouldn't draw flowers or wings?" Black*Star goaded, enjoying the sick look on Soul's face as the white haired boy considered that option. "Like…say Crona started tagging…what do you think _he_ would do?"

Soul was spared from answering by a pretty girl with short, choppy pink hair. She was playing with her many rings, eye scanning the handwritten menu above the boy's heads and met Soul's eyes with a smile. The smile fell a little when it wasn't Soul who went to take her order, but Tsubaki; the tall Asian girl that worked with him and Black*Star. She had kind blue eyes, long black hair, and a chest that every single human who walked through the door deemed impressive. Soul liked her because she was nice, but worried about her judge of character.

She'd shacked up with Black*Star after all.

Tsubaki smiled as the pink haired girl explained her order, still tugging on her rings. The pretty coworker looked over at Soul and Black*Star and requested a Soy Hazelnut Latte. "You wanna take care of that, Buffed by an Angel?"

Soul growled at his friend, before turning back towards the machine. "Don't talk about her like she actually is an Angel. The freakin' bitch is some Crayola loving child, and she got taken down like one." He prepped the espresso and shoved it into the machine before pouring the hazelnut syrup directly into the cup, freaking frou frou drinks, and seriously soy? He rolled his eyes and grabbed the soy pitcher and soy milk while the machine began to pull the double shot. "Not to fucking mention the fact that no one touched that piece for the last two years. So this little Angel is a newbie. But, yeah, her tag is new, or their tag is new…fuck I just don't think it's a guy." Soul muttered, more to himself than anyone else, pouring the milk and shoving it under the steam wand. "Just some respect, please. I don't ask for much. Whoever this fucker is.." The espresso finished just as the microfoam became velvety, he swirled it before grabbing the cup, pouring it in and topping it off with a nice layer of foam. "I just want to know that fucking bastard saw me take them out." He had it ready in about two minute

"Dude, you're doing that self-explanation thing again." Black*Star intoned, and from the worried look on Tsubaki's face, he must have looked a little insane there for a second. Soul let out a deep breath, and shook his head.

"Sorry."

"Ah, you know you're fine." Black*Star shook his head, before tossing a couple coffee beans in his mouth and biting down. Tsubaki made a face, and Soul inwardly gagged.

"God, you know that's going to kill you someday right?"

"Hey, gotta stay active. Unlike you, I am actually getting laid."

Soul looked past his brightly colored friend to his female coworker. "You really could do better."

"WHAT!? I'M A GREAT CATCH, I'M AWESOME! MY NAME IS ALL OVER THIS TOWN!"

"Your name is painted in between _real_ art." Soul shot back, and Black*Star stared at him with a blank face. Saying nothing, the blue haired boy pushed past Soul and Tsubaki. He was gone for a moment, before the music in the coffee shop changed, and Soul felt the headache that came with just the first thirty seconds of _this fucking song._

"Fuck, I take it back!" Soul yelled to the back of the shop, where Black*Star had to be messing with the music. "Just, please, no more Imagine Dragons."

Black*Star turned the music up louder.

* * *

Wes was just as passive aggressive as his brother.

When the younger Evans brother had gotten back to the apartment, silence dominating over their small home, he realized two things. One: his brother wasn't back from work yet, so there must be a meeting which left him on his own for dinner. And two: his backpack was out on the couch, which meant revenge had been taken for the street sign. Upon closer inspection, Soul's theory was confirmed when he noticed his can of Royal Red spray paint was gone.

That fucker.

Soul pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to his brother. _You seriously stole my paint?_

_Yup._

_You're a child._

_Turnabouts fair play, Little Brother. _

With a sigh wasted on his lack of audience, Soul glanced over at the clock on the ancient oven in the apartment, the time in neon green numbers told him he had an hour before his late class, which gave him just enough time to restock, and get to class.

To Sid's then.

A few miles from Soul's apartment, Sid and Mira Barett owned an art supply store. It was a small mom and pop shop, struggling amidst the dangers of big chain paint stores, but they were the only store he found that ever had his color constantly in stock. If it weren't for that, he'd avoid the place like the plague. Picking up his pace for the last couple miles, long legs helping make up for the time he wasted, he found himself outside of the old beaten down art store. He pushed open the door, and the high pitched bell alerted the tall man at the counter that he'd walked in.

Sid Barett was one of two people Soul knew that were taller than him. Standing at six foot three when he wasn't slouching, Soul was usually the outlier when it came to height. He even had Wes beat by a solid inch, something that bothered his older brother to no end. Sid had Soul beat by half an inch, which took some of the intimidation from the younger boy. Not that he'd ever had much intimidation here to begin with, Mira had taken one look at him two years ago, told him to "sit his butt down, you look like you're about to keel over" and since then, he hadn't actually been able to make the two owners stop parenting him.

Although, hard pressed to admit it, Soul never really minded.

"Well! Royal Red! What're you doing here? You shouldn't be out of paint for a while yet." Sid's wide smile broke across his face, brown eyes shining the same tone as his skin.

"Eh, hit a sign. Guess it really pissed Wes off."

"Isn't that why you tag them?"

"Tag? Who tags?" Soul asked, smirking. "I just happen to have a shit ton of art projects to do."

"Yeah, yeah." Sid rolled his eyes. "So, what's your poison?"

"Awh, same as always." Soul shrugged, leaning against the counter. Sid nodded and looked over his shoulder.

"Hey Mira! The Royal Red come in yet!?"

"Oh, is Soul here?" Mira's voice called from the back of the shop, her voice loud despite how far away she was.

"Hey Mira!" Soul called back behind Sid, and she returned his greeting, the sound of boxes shuffling told him that she was searching for his regular order. Soul was a stickler about his paint. Montana brand was his preferred medium, and he was a little bitch about making sure he got the right kind. Of all the places he'd looked for, Sid and Mira were the only ones who constantly had it stocked, and although they bitched about it they were also the only ones who would make sure the Royal Red color was in stock, even if he was pretty much the only person to buy it.

"So, just the red for you today?" Sid questioned, and Soul sighed, looking over his shoulder at the display of paint, separated by every shade. He pushed off from the counter, and looked over at the blues, pulling down two shades, and another can of white. He deposited them down by the register, and pulled out his wallet.

"Two of the Royal Red too, if you don't mind." Soul shot his grin over the counter, and Sid lifted a dark eyebrow.

"Bit early for a restock isn't it?"

"Yeah." Soul growled as he checked the time on his phone, calculating how long he'd have before he had to get to his late class. "Well, some fucking Angel buffed up my old city piece, and I felt the need to retaliate."

"An Angel huh? Doesn't sound like you're too mad." Sid's massive grin made another showing. "Sounds more like you're impressed. Don't you know when girls pick on you, it means they like you?"

"Shut up Sid, it's not like that." Soul scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide the blush that was creeping over his skin. "Angel is their tag, these two fucking ridiculous wings, done up completely in marker. They're all lines…it's kind of impressive actually." Sid only nodded his understanding. Soul wasn't a fan of Angel, not even a little, but even he had to be impresses when he thought about the sheer _focus_ it must take her, or him, or whoever the fuck Angel was to get through a piece like that.

Soul and focus were damn near strangers, and it almost blew his mind that someone could stay that dedicated to something so time consuming, and so…_technical_, and still walk away with enough done that art was left behind. Angel's art was good, hell he'd even say it was great, but it was so fucking technical, he wondered if Angel actually enjoyed doing it at all. There was no crazy, no risk, nothing but perfection, and couldn't imagine working the same way. He just wasn't built for it.

"But…they still buffed me, and that still pissed me off, so I went back and covered it." Soul looked down to the new blues he was buying. "Yeah, went and brought my tag back, wrote my name over her shit. Angel had to have gotten the message. Haven't heard anything in four days."

"Did you check today?" Mira joined their conversation and line of sight as she walked out of the backroom, placing two cans of Soul's color on the counter. Her face was mostly covered by the white mask she wore when she was mixing the store's personal colors in the back, but Soul could see the smile in her eyes nonetheless. He, however, felt his gut sinking with her words.

"No…why?"

"Oh just…it looks like someone's been working over that wall. Paint was still wet when I went on my jog this morning. Someone is burning the midnight oil on it."

"Fuck." Soul growled under his breath, and Mira had leaned over the counter, and brought her open palm upside his head so hard, she knocked his beanie loose. "Ow!"

"Boy, don't you use that kind of language in front of a lady."

"Sorry Mira." He hissed through his teeth, and looked down at the paint on the counter. "What's the damage?"

"52.50." Sid answered, pressing buttons into the register in front of him. Soul slid him a fifty and five, and refused the change. He told them to keep it, to start saving up for when he had brain damage from Mira's head smacks, and he came to collect. The two shopkeepers would laugh, but they would also be grateful. Every little bit helped, even if it was a few bucks from a semi-broke college kid.

"Alright, thank you." Soul smiled before shoving the paint in his backpack.

"That's not suspicious, is it?"

"Yeah, live on the edge." Soul snorted, and zipped his backpack shut. "I'll see you guys in bit, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Sid waved as Soul pushed the door open. "Make sure you come back after you and Angel _collaborate_!"

Soul felt a full blush cover his face, and he threw his middle finger up before he walked outside, and shook his head. He shouldered his backpack and stared towards his school. He didn't go to the same school his brother taught at. Too many white heads of hair in one place was dangerous. Wes taught at the private school on the West side of town, so he went to the cheaper, state school on the East side. A school he was going to be late to if he didn't haul ass over there.

He could feel the pounding in the back of his head start up, and he groaned. He just had to get through his class. He just had to get through his class.

* * *

Class was hell.

School was hell.

Fuck, if dropping out didn't mean getting sent right back to his fucking parents, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He just couldn't fucking handle it anymore. The classes weren't hard, and he sure as fuck wasn't stupid, but it was being able to stay focused for that long, without something to keep him there wasn't exactly his strongest point. When he pushed himself too hard, the twitching in his hands would start, and he'd know he was really close to losing it. It's because of his inability to keep his focus that he wasn't doing well in that class, and his professor was starting to call him out on it.

That pissed him off too, having the man tell him to participate. Talking was not easy for the white haired student. When he was relaxed, he could sound just like anyone else, but when he was angry, or flustered, or on the spot, or trying to focus too hard, all his words came out a stumbling mess, vowels and consonants tripping over articles and pronouns. So, Soul found it easier not to talk.

And he was in danger of failing over it.

Teeth clenched tighter, he pulled out his phone, and typed a quick message to his brother, telling him he'd be home later.

_Going Angel hunting?_ Soul glared at the message he got back from his older brother, feeling color paint his face. For just one fucking day, he wanted a break, and he wanted Wes to just shut the fuck up.

_Fuck you, I'll be back later._

_Be careful. _

_Yeah._

He shoved his phone in his pocket, and shifted the backpack filled with newly acquired paint. Now, which sign best suited his needs? It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The opposite of war isn't peace, it's creation.

Maka pondered that thought as she moved her markers against the wall, line after line flowing from her hands as if they were predestined to be there. Fundamentally, she would agree. War is destruction, and creation is the opposite of destruction.

But, if she were to consider that, then what exactly was she doing?

With her creation, there was also destruction. Underneath her hand, she worked to cover Eater's counter-tag, and reclaim this wall as hers. She destroyed Eater's creation, causing destruction, by creating over it. She had both war and creation on this wall.

Maka sighed, and exhaled into the white mask covering her face. Yeah, maybe that philosophy final had stayed with her a little more than she thought. It had been her last final of her sophomore year of college, and that meant summer. Summer meant no father breathing down her neck, since he'd be starting his new work schedule now that he wasn't guest lecturing at her school. Summer meant freedom, and warm nights, and enough extra shifts at the bookstore to keep her funded, and the markers in her pocket.

Capping the pen, she took a step back from the wall to admire her work. She'd let Eater's annoying tag sit on the wall for almost three days before she had been able to even look at it again. That hadn't stopped her from planning her revenge though, and she'd spent any free time she had detailing out her response to the vain bastard who covered up her lines.

Well, it had taken a lot of work, and a very late last night, but her retaliation had started. It would be a cold day in hell before Maka Albarn walked away from this. She was proud with what now shone on the wall, wet paint giving off a dreamlike shine to her lines, making them something greater than just paint on bricks.

It looked beautiful.

It's because she's so engrossed in her work, that she doesn't hear the shuffling footsteps until they're getting louder. Panic settled in her bones, before rushing to the surface, and she broke out into a cold sweat. Carefully, she shoved the markers deep into the pocket of her black hoodie, and she tries to look as nonchalant as possible. There's nowhere for her to run and being caught alone, in an alley, well after midnight, is not going to look good, no matter how she tried to talk her way out of it.

Finally, the figure that slipped into the front of the alley got closer to her, and she felt her heartbeat skyrocket. There wasn't much light down where she was, aside from the flashlight she had on the ground by her backpack, but she could make out the faint glow off shock white hair. That's all she can make out before the figure noticed her standing there, and they straightened up. They're tall, whoever they are, nearly a foot taller than she is. They meet her eyes, and she isn't sure, but it looks almost like red is staring back at her.

It had to be a trick of the light.

The rest of their face is hidden underneath a black bandana, and between that and the black beanie on their head, Maka can't get anything else from the glance, other than a fringe of white bangs and eyes that can't be real.

The eyes regarded her for a moment, before bouncing to the wall, wet paint still shining as she swallowed hard, unsure of what would happen next. She didn't have much to defend herself with, just the flashlight and a bag full of books.

Actually, she was better armed than she thought.

She didn't know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't for the figure to smack a hand against their forehead and sigh.

"_You're_ the Angel? Jesus you're shorter than I thought you'd be."

* * *

**Thank yous!:**

**KamuiLumior: Well, she won't take him covering her art like that, no way! **

**Sheepeater: Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it! An author of my caliber? Surely you jest, my friend. I'm just going along with the story at its own pace. Oh, you like the freak outs? You're gonna love the next chapter! Scouts honor!**

**Awesomeasusual: AH AWESOME I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT! Yes, Soul with tattoos…good. Great even, really, I don't know how I am going to get anything done with this tattooed artist in my head. UGH THE EVANS BROTHERS ARE MY WEAKNESS. REALLY. I LOVE THEM BOTH SO MUCH. Ah, the detective with the delinquent daughter. Yes, I do like his Slutty little character. I'M SO GLAD THE ART COMES THROUGH, BUT I CAN'T REALLY TAKE CREDIT FOR THAT! POOR ODAT HAS TO SIT THERE AND PRETTY MUCH TALK ME THROUGH EVERTHING. THE POOR THING.**

**Twin-Lupus: Ah! I'm so glad you like it! Really Fab, it means a lot! No, please, don't thank me. This little gig is WAAAAAY too much fun for you to thank me! ACTUALLY THANK YOU FOR READING, AND HELPING, AND CONTRIBUTING!**

**Chelsea-Chee: I'm glad you like it! Thank you for the reviews!**

**Missymoobelle: Street art is actually surprisingly FUN. I would absolutely add it to your bucket list. I'm glad you like the AU! I've been having a blast figuring out how Soul and Maka and art would play together, and I'm glad it's coming across well! Thank you for reading!**

**Wildchild911: Don't you worry, now that school is over, I have WAY more time to dedicate to this story!**

**Guest: I'm glad you like it! Thanks for reading, and graffiti art is pretty awesome actually. Way fun.**

**Eieriann: Oh, I am HARDLY the right person to ask about tagged thug life! I've just spent a lot of time on YouTube and endlessly bothering my Beta Odat about the art. I'm sure she's about ready to kill me. And yes…yes tattooed Soul is something that should happen. Very very soon. **

**Inu-Twins: Thank you! Thanks for reading!**

**Gunning Twice: I don't know! I was honestly surprised no one had! But to be honest, the prompt was handed to me by Awesomeasusual, so I hardly came up with it! Thanks for reading! I'm glad you like it!**

**Queen-Of-Heroes: I'm glad you like it! and oh, don't worry, the competition is just getting started!**

**The-brightest-fell: I'm glad you like it! Thanks Bright!**

**AbsentAngel: Now that school is out, I should be able to update more! Yay! Thanks for reading!**

**S0oulmatch3r: Oh, they fight over that wall A LOT.**

**Wow…16 reviews for the first chapter, that might honestly be a record for me. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH.**

**EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS TO ODAT, MY LOVELY BETA AND CO-OWER, AND TWIN-LUPUS, WHO HELPED OUT WITH SOME FUTURE DEVLEOPMENTS. **

**ALSO, HERE'S TO US SOMA FANDOM. WE HAD OUR FUCKING HEARTS RIPPED OUT THIS WEEK, BUT WE WILL OVERCOME IT. WE ARE AWESOME LIKE THAT. **

**Thank you all!**

**-Eris. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

**Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys**

* * *

Shock was quickly replaced by anger.

"Short!?" Maka walks towards the man in the bandana, her fear momentarily forgotten. "I'm not short! You're just freakishly tall." She had to look up at him to reiterate that point, and she frowned under her mask when she realized that she barely reached his clavicle.

"What was that Angel?" Maka growled, she could _hear_ the smirk in his voice and she took a step back, and crossed her arms.

"You. You're Eater, aren't you?" She asked, and he nodded. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if I recall correctly, this is my wall."

"Not anymore." Maka smirked under her mask, and stood in front of her wall protectively. "This is mine."

Eater snorted, and shook his head. He was about to answer before a low buzzing filled the silence between the two, and he fished out his phone. She watched intently as the light from the screen lit up his face and she focused on his eyes. Red, they were actually red. And for some reason, with the light in his face, those eyes looked incredibly familiar, but she couldn't place them for the life of her. Eater hissed under his breath and shoved the phone back in his pocket. "Well little Angel, looks like your piece lives another day." Eater looked down at her, one snowy eyebrow raised. Maka didn't answer, just stared at him as he turned to walk away.

"You'll let me finish it right?" She called after him, and he stopped walking, turning his head over his shoulder. "You'll at least let me finish the piece before you destroy it?"

She can hear him sigh, but he gave a nod. "Sure. Finish it. Who am I to stop the way of the doodles?" Her angry retort at his completely untrue remark was about to pass by her lips when he spoke again. "Be careful getting back little Angel."

She blinked at that, her mind going a million miles an hour. He showed up randomly, insulted her height, walked away, and gave her a warning to be careful. Eater had literally caught her in the process of covering his piece, _again_, and he was walking away. He didn't even _yell_ at her. Maka opened her mouth, but nothing came out except for a completely confused "What?"

"I said be careful getting home." Eater repeated himself slowly, like he was talking to a puppy. "It's dark out, sometimes dangerous. Be. Careful."

"I…uh…yeah." She blinked at him again, and he rolled his eyes and continued his walk out of the alley.

"See you around Angel."

"Doubt it." She hissed back, and turned towards her lines on the wall, slowly overtaking the radioactive semen he'd left a week before. Once she was sure he was gone, she went back to work on the wall and considered the conversation she had just had. It was not how she had ever anticipated such a meeting to go. In fact, she had never actually anticipated on meeting Eater at all. He was just some prick who covered up her flowers. A prick who apparently had been waiting for her to retaliate, judging by the fact that there wasn't any new art in this alley she hadn't already seen, and how he didn't seem to be looking for something to cover, he had just been coming to check.

And he hadn't yelled.

Maka wouldn't even pretend she was good at understanding people. Math, science, literature, language, those were what Maka understood. She was smart, very smart, but she couldn't for the life of her even begin to understand people. For the most part, people acted as she expected them too, bored glances, muffled laughter, barely concealed whispers directed at the little bookworm, but Eater made zero sense to her.

She pulled her maker back out and uncapped it, continuing the flow of lines while she thought. There were some people in life that just didn't make sense, and he might just be one of them, but still. The freaking giant hadn't even invaded her bubble, she had done that to him, and he'd seemed more interested in her stature, or lack thereof, to even worry about the fact that she was literally in the process of buffing him.

Maybe he was the weird one here.

Yeah, that had to be it. Eater had to be the weird one. And how old exactly was this guy? If she found out she had been buffing a senior freaking citizen, she was going to feel horrible. But…his eyes didn't look old, just achingly familiar, and it pissed her off that she wasn't exactly sure where she had seen them before, of if she even had seen them before. She'd remember something like that, wouldn't she? Red eyes? Even in the questionable pool of genetics that Death City seemed to produce, red eyes weren't as common as one would think, and she just fucking _knew _she had seen eyes like that before. But she couldn't think of a single instance where they were paired with the white hair she'd seen peeking out of that beanie.

Maka pulled her marker from the wall, and shook her head. She was thinking too much about everything. Eater was just some (possibly elderly) guy who was pretty decent at making chunks of color appear as a picture. That's all.

Eater wasn't anything else.

Just an artist like her.

Yeah, she had just been thinking too hard about it. Eater was like her. That's all. It meant he was nothing special.

She traced her lines for another hour, the picture in her head slowly encompassing the wall she was trying to liberate from the man's hold. Finally, she was too tired to continue, and the numbers on her phone told her she only had a few hours before the sun cracked across the sky and her father would get home. Yawning, she shoved all her markers into her bag, and looked up at the work she had been doing. She loved it so far, she really did. She let her shoulders relax, and she chewed the inside of her cheek. Smiling, Maka pulled up her bag, and reached around for her neon orange sticky notes. She pulled out a sharpie, and scribbled a note out on it really quick, a small smirk on her face.

There.

No one ever regrets a little insurance policy.

* * *

He literally fell asleep in a piece of toast.

Wes watched in slightly morbid fascination as his little brother's eyelids continued to droop, a little less red visible each time, until they finally stayed shut, and his head fell from his hand, and landed fast first into the piece of toast he had haphazardly covered with butter before sitting down. The eldest Evans blinked, and took a sip of his instant coffee, pondering the situation.

He knew his little brother was out later than usual last night, having rolled in well past what he usually stayed out, and woken up earlier than usual for work, as apparently "Bl'ck*St'r mes'd Tsu up t'much, an' gott' cover h'r shift." Soul had blearily, and disgustedly, told Wes when he asked why he was up. Wes' school was on their last day of finals, and he just needed to put the grades in and he'd be done for the summer. Soul still had another week before he'd be off, and between the studying, work, and unapproved extracurricular activities, his little brother might finally be starting to wear himself thin.

Soul snored into his toast, and Wes took another sip of coffee.

Or Soul could simply be going crazy. There was always the second option.

Either way, he should probably prevent his little brother's lungs further damage, and make sure he didn't drown in the butter he was incredibly close to sucking up through his nose, or even the obnoxious snoring Wes was used to hearing muffled through a wall. God help whoever would be unfortunate enough to share a bed with his little brother. Wes was about to call Soul's name when he saw the hand that had been reaching for his glass of OJ twitch, and Wes raised an eyebrow. His little brother was _out_. They might need to put off his horrid little habit until after school was over. Well, calling his name wasn't going to wake him up.

Wes grabbed his spoon and chucked it at his brother's head.

"Ow!" Soul flew up, toast stuck to his face, and he looked around confused, rubbing his wild, still bedridden hair. No words were spoken once his eyes registered the kitchen and he calmly pulled the toast from his face. "Please don't say anything."

"Oh, but the questions in my mind right now…"

Soul glared at him before reaching for a napkin to get the butter off of his face. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I'm tired."

"Well, when you're out all hours of the night, you are bound to get tired."

"I'm usually fine." Soul yawned, and looked questioningly at his toast, before shrugging and shoving half of it in his mouth. "Special occasion is all."

"Maybe it's time to put up the cans until after finals?"

Soul gave him a grumpy face, and Wes had to keep himself from laughing at the disgruntled creature at the end of the table. "I can't."

"Why, yes you can. If you want, I can steal your paint again-"

"Fuck you Wes that shit costs money."

"So does rent, little brother."

"I gave you my half this month." Soul shrugged. "Let me have my fun."

"Fun? You fell asleep into your breakfast."

"At least it wasn't cereal."

"Soul, you need to take a break."

"I caaaaaaaaan't."

"Why not?"

"Because…I just can't okay. Angel is fucking buffing me again, and I can't let it go for too long, or she'll fucking think she won."

"Wait…she's going over what you went over because she went over what you drew?"

"Yup."

"The two of you are children."

"I don't care, she's not getting the freakin' wall."

Wes rolled his eyes and finished off what was left of his coffee, while Soul glared at the cup like it has personally wronged him and his house in some way. "Yes?"

"I don't get how you can drink that shit."

"Easily. One, don't be a bitch about coffee."

"Not a bitch."

"Little brother, you're the biggest bitch of all."

Soul sighed again and stood up from the table, shooting his brother a death glare. "See if you get the fucking discount next time."

"Awh, come on little brother-"

"Nope." Soul shook his head and pulled his beanie on over it, flattening his bangs against his face. "Hell, I might even charge you double."

"I'll send you back home."

Soul only snorted, and sent a sharp toothed smirk towards his brother. "No you won't."

"No, I won't."

The younger Evans brother laughed before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door, walking towards the coffee shop. God, Black*Star and Tsubaki both were going to owe him _big_ for this. He fucking hated the early morning shift, everyone in and out of the shop would be stressed, pissy, in a hurry, or a fucking delightful mix of all three that made Soul just want to beat his head against the cash register and hope to God the right amount of change would come out.

Maybe Wes had a point; maybe he was a little tired. But, it wasn't exactly his fault. That fucking Angel should take some of the blame. She was the one who had kept him up half the night. Mostly, it was relief that Angel was actually female, which if nothing else would make the teasing much easier to deal with. There was something about the little celestial midget that made him…anxious. Like there was more to those big green eyes than she was letting on, and it almost freaked him out. Her eyes were something else: sharp, dangerous, and fiery, a shade of green he wasn't sure he'd ever seen created before.

And that annoyed him. Soul knew color, and she…she seemed to be above color.

Fuck he really needed to catch a few hours' sleep after he got off work.

He yawned, and passed the alleyway he'd left Angel in last night, and glanced down it, before glancing at his phone. Deciding he had enough time, and knowing Black*Star would cover for him even if he didn't, Soul changed course down the alley, down to where his wall was, and he took a look at Angel's work in the daylight. Again, he was shown her line work, each one meticulously created, ebbing and flowing from each other, making a larger picture with the small individual pieces. He wasn't sure exactly what it was supposed to be yet, but this early, he wasn't sure anyone but Angel even knew what she was putting on the wall, but he could see how freakin' perfect every single one of the lines already on the wall were.

She was in the very least impressive, he'd give her that.

A bright streak of color pulled his attention, and he found a small square of neon orange that seemed to scream at him, and he wondered if it was painted or not. Finally, his brain caught up with him and he walked over to the sticky note, which was high enough on the wall so he could see it, which meant that if it was from Angel, she'd had to have stood on her freaking toes to get it there. He pulled the note from the wall, and held it up.

**Keep your fucking promise Eater. Don't touch my wall.**

"Jesus, she's nagging me, and she ain't even here." He smirked to himself, and stuck the orange square back on the wall. Now, not only did he have to defend himself, and his wall, he had to stand up to written abuse. Soul swung his backpack towards him, and dug around until he found his neon blue sticky notes, and a pen. He scribbled out his own response, and slapped it over hers, before heading back down the alley, and towards the café, satisfaction chasing the lethargy away.

_Your move Angel._

* * *

Maka had to do a double take.

He didn't, he totally didn't.

But when she got closer to her piece that night, the blue square of paper was completely covering her orange one, and when she brought her flashlight up to it, she could see a toned down version of the angular writing that had given her a headache when it was displayed on the wall.

_Don't you mean my wall? And I said I wouldn't touch it, so I won't. _

He wrote on her wall. He wrote on her _wall_. A smile broke across her face and she let a laugh free in the empty alley. God, what was this, Facebook? It was kind of adorable though, in a completely nerdy way. She went back towards her bag, and pulled out her sticky notes again, and held the flashlight in her mouth while she wrote a response to him. Eater was weird, she had decided that last night, but he was a nice weird, and he wrote her back with sticky notes. There was something about his weirdness that she didn't mind.

Plus, if he kept insisting that it was _his_ wall, she almost had to respond. It wasn't his wall anymore.

* * *

They somehow manage to never see each other again.

They don't do it on purpose, but Soul never runs into the little artist again, their schedules just don't ever match up. However, that doesn't stop the girl from covering half the alley in her obnoxious orange sticky notes. They add up after a month passed, and they were starting to become the highlight to Soul's day. There would be chucks of time where Angel didn't show up, and he wouldn't get a response, just like there'd be days where he couldn't make it out there, and she'd wait for him, but there would always end up being a response. She was like a freakin' penpal, except she wasn't in a different country and she showed up to destroy his work. Which she was doing, still, but it was _almost_ worth it to go through the conversation stuck to the wall.

_Jesus Angel, when I said I wouldn't touch the wall until you were finished, I didn't realize you were painting the fucking Sistine Chapel._

**Don't be a dick. You can't rush art.**

_I'm not rushing art; I'm rushing your freakin' crayon doodle._

**I swear to God, if you don't stop dissing my markers, I'm going to beat you.**

_Angel, you couldn't reach my face, much less beat me._

**Don't try me.**

_I'd love to._

**Idiot.**

_Midget._

**Hey…are we friends?**

_Yeah. Course._

**What, that's it?**

_What, you want a cookie or something?_

**Shut up, I don't have a lot of these.**

_Weird wall friends you only talk to through sticky notes?_

**Friends in general.**

_Well, count me as one of them_.

Well, about a week ago, he had written "Well, count me as one of them" back in response to her, however that particular sticky note had disappeared, and he couldn't see it up on the massive conversation that had grown over his wall.

However, there was a new orange one, that had no words on it, just a quick doodle of Buzz and Woody from _Toy Story_, and he smiled in the darkness. God, he would end up making friends with someone who wanted to paint over everything he cared about, and made him a fucking lanky cowboy to boot. (Like hell he was Buzz, Angel was the weird Alien one here, not him.) Soul smirked as he reached through his nearly empty backpack for the waning pile of sticky notes hidden at the bottom.

His summer was well under way, and he was just fucking itching to create something. However, he had given Angel his word (and in writing) that he wouldn't touch the wall until she was done, and although there were plenty of empty bricks for him to deface, he didn't really want to make anything until Angel was done. But seriously, if she wasn't done with the intricate knotting and lines on the wall soon, he might fucking lose it. Instead, he found his sticky notes, and wrote a response out for her, a small smile on his face as he stuck the note to the wall.

He wasn't sure when she had stopped being "Angel the Asshole" and instead became "Angel my Asshole Friend", but he wasn't complaining. Looking up the alley really quick, he took the sticky note that held Buzz and Woody from the wall, and slipped it into his wallet.

If she was taking souvenirs, why couldn't he?

* * *

Maka woke up to a buzzing against her face.

Her teeth rattled in her head and she lifted it off the pillow. Her phone fell off her face, and she tiredly groped for it to shut off the alarm she had set. She fell back on her bed and glanced at the smoggy night sky out her window. She wanted to get up and go back to her wall, and finish the piece, but she just wasn't feeling it right then.

She could hear her father downstairs, his obnoxiously loud laugh echoing through their home. A softer, feminine laugh followed his, and Maka growled, wrapping her pillow around her head. She didn't know if he knew she was home, or he if had just forgot to consider that. He got that way sometimes, especially when there were women involved.

It didn't matter now; she was trapped in her house. She couldn't exactly scale down her window, and going downstairs meant possibly coming to face to face with whatever woman was downstairs in her living room, and she knew what the rumors had been at school, about the "handsome guest lecture" who sometimes took some of the older students back to his place. If Maka walked down there, she might possibly have to look at a classmate, and she doesn't think she can handle that right now.

She should've left earlier, but she had been so tired after work she just wanted to sleep, and now she had trapped herself in her house with her father and his conquest of the night. Maka swallowed hard and grabbed her phone, plugging in the number she knew by heart into her phone. The ringing echoed in her room, and she waiting, breath held while the line went silent. She closed her eyes in defeat when her mother's tinny voice informed her that she "couldn't get to the phone right now" and she'd call back when she could.

Except she wouldn't.

Maka growled and tossed her phone on the foot of her bed, her mind running while her father laughed again. She rolled onto her side, and her eyes fell on the blue sticky note she had stuck to her window pane, the angular writing backlit with the streetlight out of her window. She grinned at it, and she rolled her eyes.

Stupid, giant, senior citizen.

Maka sat up again, and got off her bed, digging under it until she found an old sketch book, the one she hadn't picked up since her mom had decided she was going to "travel to clear her head", and never came back. She shoved it in her backpack, and looked towards the door. She could be silent, she could be silent and sneak past the two voices that have stopped murmuring and are probably doing other unmentionable things, but hopefully they would be so involved in each other, they wouldn't even notice her.

She walked down the stairs slowly, ignoring the obnoxious noises on the couch as she slipped out the door and inhaled the desert night air. It was warm out, the suffocating night air covering her like blanket, and she had a smile on her face as she trekked towards the wall. Maka gazed up at the sky, the few dots of stars that fought their way through the city lights and smog made her smile. This city wasn't pretty, or clean, or lovely, but it was hers.

She reached the alley in about twenty minutes, and snuck down, keeping her eyes peeled for any giant idiots. Maka couldn't find any, but she sat down across from her piece and looked up at it, tracing what she had on the wall down on her sketch pad, and trying to finish the end result she saw in her head onto paper, wanting to put it down somewhere. She worked on that for a while, holding her flashlight in her mouth as she bounced from looking at the wall, to looking at her paper. It was during one of these constant up and down trips that she noticed the blue square of paper on the wall, over the orange she had left. Grinning, she hopped up and went to read it.

_Are you calling me a cowboy Angel?_

She grinned, and went to lift the blue sticky note to look at her _Toy Story_ doodle only to find that it was gone. She was confused for a second, because he must have seen it, because he mentioned the cowboy but then where-

Eater took her doodle.

Eater took her doodle!

An unbidden blush crossed her face slowly, and she shook her head. It wasn't that big of a deal, he just took her sticky note doodle. Not a big deal at all, no matter what the stupid smile on her face said to the contrary. She sat back down and dug through her backpack, and looked for her sharpie. Flashlight in her mouth, she carefully sketched out a doodle of Spike from Cowboy Bebop, and underneath it wrote: **Space Cowboy. Totally different.**

Maka laughed to herself, and smacked her orange sticky note over the blue. Her face still felt too warm for her own good, but she ignored that.

She didn't need to think about the blush on her face, she just needed to think about getting the wall done.

Sudden burst of inspiration in her veins, Maka dug out her markers and ripped the cap off with her teeth.

The opposite of war is creation, and she was finally ready to create.

* * *

**Thank Yous:**

**Amongthegreats: I'm glad you like how it's going!**

**Queen-Of-Heros: Ah, yes. Eater and Angel are now sticky note amigos at the most.**

**Anon1: Oh all will be explained over time! I promise! Thank you for reading!**

**Twin-Lupus: Buffed by and Angel might actually end up being poor Soul's nickname for the rest of forever. Ah, yeah, Soul does have a few problems with attention deficit disorder, but I'm so glad you were able to pick up on that. THANK YOU FOR READING! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!**

**Odat: YAY I'M SO GLAD IT WORKED. UGH. THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP WITH THE ART, AND THE PLANNING, AND THE LISTENING AND THE STAYING UP LATE AND ALL THE FEEEEEEEEELS ON MY GOD DOTTY THANK YOU.**

**Zeeberg: Oh my God your review made me squeal! Thank you! Yes! You noticed how their art is their personality! Excellent catch my friend. Oh, he'll be driven to the brink of insanity by this little Angel before it's over, don't you even worry. I hope you like the new chapter! Thanks for the review!**

**Chelsea-Chee: OH MY GOD IT WAS HORRIBLE. FANDOM STILL ISN'T DONE REELING FROM IT. Ah, coffee shop Soul is more fun than I ever thought. Ah, Maka pops up randomly, I hope that's okay! Thanks for reviewing!**

**Absent Angel: Oh, don't worry. Drawn out is exactly what they're dealing with. Thanks for the review!**

**Mouers: I'm glad you like it, and I'm glad the art is coming across okay! Thanks for the review!**

**Pinch: Thank you! You're a mother fucking bad ass too! Graffiti is AMAZING. THANKS SO MUCH DEAR!**

**Guest: I'm your finals distraction! Oh my god, I'm so glad you like it! Bahaha oh don't worry. There will be these wonderful short jokes peppered in throughout. You'll have plenty of new jokes for that! **

**Gunning Twice: OH MY GOD GUNS I LOVED THE FANART IT WAS BEAUTIFUL AND ADORABLE AND SO PERFECT. IT LOOKED JUST LIKE IT WAS SUPPOSED TO. THANK YOU FOR THE ART, AND THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! I'M GLAD YOU LIKE IT!**

**Ocha-no-deathscythe: There will be plenty of Sid and Mira, don't you worry. They're actually really, really important! Thank you for the review!**

**AlyCatt14: Oh genius is such a strong word! Haha thanks love!**

**Theformulaofpudding: I'm glad you like the concept!**

**Johannich: I'm so glad you like it! Enjoy!**

**Inu-Twins: I have no problem with Imagine Dragons haah. But Soul does. He's really not a fan of them. Thanks for the review!**

**Eieriann: AREN'T THE VIDEOS AWESOME!? Mira will be smacking him way, way more. THANKS FOR THE REVIEW! HOPE YOU ENJOYED!**

**Hope you all like it!**

**-Eris.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Five:**

**Run With It**

* * *

That green did not exist on the human plane.

Garnet eyes narrowed at the display in Sid's paint store. Every shade of green was in front of him, caps of the paint cans proudly showing where the fell in the infinite shades of the color green, but he couldn't see the _right_ green.

The green that had been glaring at him from over a white surgical mask while the owner of those eyes laughed at him and challenged him to try and take the wall from her. The green that had made an appearance in a dream last night that Soul _really_ would rather not think about while he was in public. Green eyes that had looked at him with a challenge, and desire, that had complimented the pink of her tongue-

Soul shook his head, and growled in his throat, really not wanting to drag the memories of the dream he'd had last night to the front of his mind. It had been a long fucking time since he'd woken up from a _dream_ blushing and hard. He wasn't a damn teenager anymore, and he didn't like that he had been reduced to the mentality of a fifteen year old boy over a girl he had _only met once_. Not to mention that meeting hadn't actually resulted in anything other than a few exchanged insults and him having to run back home because he had given Wes a heart attack with how late he stayed out.

Next to him, Soul heard a throat clear, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Sid standing next to him. "Fuck, when did you get here?"

"You've been staring at the greens like they personally did something to you. What's up?"

"You don't have the right green." Soul muttered, eyes returning to the display in front of him. Sid only laughed.

"We don't have the right green? Kid, that is _all_ the green right in front of you, okay? All of it."

"Obviously not, because I'm not seeing the green I need."

Sid furrowed his brow, and managed to look down at Soul from the half inch he had to stand on. Soul glared right back, and the paint shop owner only shook his head again. "Do you have a color reference for me?"

"…No." Soul's face heated, and he could almost _feel_ the blush explode under his skin. Sid's massive grin threatened to split his face as he took Soul's expression into account.

"And why don't you have a color reference for me?"

"Shut up, it's not a big deal."

"Your face says otherwise."

"Shut. Up."

"You know, I think we stock the color your face is now, let me just go grab it-"

"No!" Soul shook his head and pointed at the display. "God, I just-green-I only need-"

"Okay, kid. I'll help you find your green." Sid placated, and looked up at the wall of green in front of them. "I will need some help though."

The tagger could only press the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I don't know how to even describe this color. Jade isn't dark enough, forest isn't right either. Hunter green is too rough, and I don't think I've ever actually seen this color on anything but her eyes-"

"Her eyes!? Who's eyes!?" Sid cried, his voice too loud, and Soul knew in that instant he was screwed. Sure enough, not three seconds later he could hear the rapid padding of Mira's bare feet as she rushed towards both of them.

"Who's eyes!?"

"Hey Mira."

"Boy, don't you 'Hey Mira' me, you answer my question."

"No one's eyes!" Soul growled at the two overly parental shop keeps that looked at him like he held the answer to nuclear fusion. "Okay? Slip of the tongue. I stuttered that's all." Sid and Mira looked at each other, communicating and entire conversation through one side eyed glance. Soul was viciously outnumbered between the overgrown color expert and the goddess of paint that were Sid and Mira Barett.

"No you didn't-"

"Mira please…"

"No, I want to know what girl's eyes are all up in your head so much, you can't even talk about it." Mira crossed her arms and challenged the albino artist in front of her to try and get out of this situation. It was rapidly becoming worse and worse for Soul.

"No girl, Mira. No girl, there never is a girl." Soul tried to argue, and Mira's eyes changed. The hard determination in the blue irises faded into understanding, and she shook her head, dreads following the movement perfectly.

"You met the one who's been covering your pieces, didn't you?" Soul couldn't meet her eyes and Mira nodded. "You have, what's her name?"

"I don't know."

"Oh come on boy-"

"I really don't know." Soul sighed, and rubbed his hand against his face. "I met her once, for about ten minutes a month ago, and I haven't seen her since."

"You met the Angel?" Sid asked, amusement on his face, and Soul grimaced.

"Yeah."

"And she's _still_ buffing you?"

"…Yes."

"Wow, you must have really shown her."

"Shut up Sid." Soul growled, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "And, I don't see the color I need, sorry to have wasted your time."

"Awh, kid, look we'll help you find it."

"No, really. I don't see it up there." Soul smirked and shook his head. "I'll figure it out soon, don't worry. I'll be back."

"Wait, before you go, are you planning on buffing her back?" Mira asked, pulling her own mask back on before she went to continue her work with the paint.

"Yeah, probably, if she ever finishes."

"She did." Mira told him, and Soul froze, brows nearly meeting over his confused eyes.

"What?"

"It looked done to me this morning when I went on my jog."

"Shit! She fucking finished it!?" Soul's grin stayed on his face for only a few seconds before Mira had to jump up and smack him upside his head again, this time knocking the beanie to the ground. "Ow! Mira!"

"I don't care how excited you are, you do not swear in the presence of a lady!"

"I'm not excited." Soul grumbled in his defense, stooping down to pick up his hat from the floor.

"That dumb smile says otherwise."

"Yeah, thanks Sid." The artist growled, fixing his beanie back on top of his head. "I've been waiting for her to finish, I promised I wouldn't touch the wall until she did."

"Mmmhmm." Mira only lifted an eyebrow at him. "You be kind to her now, that's her work, and you need to respect it."

"Like she respected her art all over the top of mine?"

"Touché."

"Besides, I'm not a total dic-jerk. I know how to buff another artist with respect."

"Oh ho ho, so she's an _artist_ now?" Sid smirked, leaning against the greens that still didn't fit Soul's mental picture of Angel's eyes. "Last we heard she was a 'no good crayon sympathizer'."

"…Yeah…I might have been a little hasty with that…"

"You think?" The color expert snorted, skillfully ignoring the crimson toned glare that was sent his way. "Alright, alright, tell you what. Bring her by, and I'll help you match the color. Covertly."

"You couldn't do covert if your life depended on it! And I don't know who she is! You two don't seem to grasp that." Soul sighed, and shook his head. "I seriously do need to go now, okay? I gotta go meet Wes."

"Alright, you tell that brother of yours we say hello, and tell him we expect you both for dinner soon."

"Yeah, yeah I'll tell him." Soul promised as he waved on his way out the door. He kept his walk back quick. If Angel had finished, he was fucking dying to see what had taken her so long.

Wes could wait; Soul had to fucking see what had taken her almost a month.

Trying very hard to keep himself from breaking into a sprint the rest of the way, Soul finally reached the alley that hid the wall in shadows, even during the day. Ignoring the sudden twitching his hands were plagued with, he made the familiar trek towards the wall, and once again, he felt his heart stop when he took in the finished piece.

Jesus, she was a master at manipulating lines to her will. Each white line stood out on the back drop of his old piece, ebbing and flowing to create the most detailed set of wings he'd ever seen in his life. The new piece stood out, and engulfed his old tag; giving the impression that it was caged within the wings that now dominated the souls he had painted. Underneath each white line, a gold paint that shined excessively highlighted the lines and gave the entire piece an ethereal feel, and it almost seemed to glow because of it. The sheer amount of detail and focus that she put into this amazed him still. Plus, the lines stretched upwards, curved, and returned to the rest in what looked like it had to have been a swift, fluid motion. Soul could almost _feel_ how badly the muscles in her shoulder had to burn after even just an hour of the repetitive style. No wonder it had taken her a month to create this, it was fucking impressive.

Not to mention, the lines went high up on that wall, which means little Angel was at some point standing on a bucket at least, and that thought made him smile.

"You don't do anything halfway, do you Angel?" He shook his head as he stared at the wings on the wall. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe the amount of sheer _perfection_ on the wall. When he painted, he was everywhere, lines intersected, colors bled, nothing was perfect, but that's how he liked it. Soul liked the chaos that came with the freedom of being able to just _draw on the wall_, break the rules, and make a mess.

Angel's art was surgically perfect, and while he could absolutely respect the work she put into all of it, he did honestly wonder if she enjoyed this at all. He knew that not all artists took to creative chaos the way he did, and when he had caught her, she hadn't actually been in the process of drawing, but he wondered what her eyes were like when she was. What she looked like when she was dragging that marker over the bricks, and if she actually looked happy when she did so.

He'd seen a lot when she had glared at him with those fucking green eyes, but happiness wasn't in there.

Soul sighed before glancing down at his phone. He really did need to meet up with Wes now, but he'd come back later, start planning his rebuttal.

Before he left, he looked over at the mess of sticky notes and found the orange one on the top. She hadn't answered him since he'd swiped the sticky note she had done of Spike, and he was worried she might have called him out on it. Instead, there was only one sentence written there, in Angel's precise, elegant handwriting.

_Go easy on it; I actually kind of liked this piece._

Soul smiled and reached for his backpack; only to remember he didn't fucking have it with him. Growling, he reached for his pockets, hoping to find a pen hidden there somewhere. Fuck, he didn't want to leave it-

Wait a fucking second.

Soul knelt down at the base of the wall, and picked up a marker. More likely, Angel's marker, if Soul really thought about it. He held it in his hand, and still couldn't see the appeal. Too much control. He shook it twice, and heard the paint move inside the plastic casing, so Angel just must have forgotten it. Oh well, at least he had a way to answer now.

He uncapped the marker, the utensil feeling absolutely wrong in his hands as he wrote back to Angel on a few of his old blue sticky notes, and arranged them over the orange one.

"Take it easy my ass," he muttered to himself as he turned to go back to his apartment. "She didn't take it easy over my last two fucking pieces, why should I take it easy over hers?! That ain't fair."

* * *

There was a dull ache that settled in the muscles of her arms that nearly made returning books to their proper place impossible.

Maka continued to place the books on the shelves that towered over her head, a frown gracing her face as she had to climb up a few of the shelves to get the books where they needed to go. As long as her boss didn't see her making the bookstore her own private jungle gym, she wouldn't be chewed out by the stern woman. No harm, no foul.

Slipping the last book in her stack home with its siblings, Maka dropped down from the shelves and groaned at the throbbing in her shoulders. Maybe a month of lines was pushing her body a bit too far; however, she felt her pride thrumming along with the pain in her shoulders. It had honestly been one of the best works of art she had ever done in her entire life. Each line had been something special, something completely perfect alone, but with the rest of them had created the amazing spread she had done on her wall. She had been completely focused on that wall for the last month, and now she wasn't really sure what she was supposed to focus on.

She was trying very, very hard not to focus on Eater's reaction to her piece would be.

Maka wasn't ignorant, she was aware of how much disrespect she had shown him by covering his piece, and she could only hope that he would give her work more respect than she had shown him.

She did actually care about that piece. A lot.

But…according to Eater, they were friends, and friends weren't dicks with other friend's art…right? Of course, to her knowledge…most friends weren't just friends over sticky notes on a brick wall. So…she wasn't really sure what would pass between Eater and her.

And it bothered her that it bothered her.

"Maka! I need you to shelve more books!" Her boss' voice brought her out of her mental deliberation of Eater's artistic integrity, and she walked back up towards the front desk where Ms. Yumi was standing with her arms crossed, stern look ever present on her face. The employee filled her arms with several different books, and started back towards the shelves. "And Maka?"

"Yes?"

"Use the ladder."

"You know I can't carry it." Maka pouted behind the volumes she held in her hand, and Ms. Yumi shook her head.

"You can't climb the shelves."

"…but I have to get these shelved…"

"And I don't need another lawsuit."

"In what little defense I can muster, you did bully Hiro until he cried."

Azusa Yumi glared at Maka over her glasses. "You can't prove that."

"And neither could he." Maka grinned, and shifted the books in her arms. "But I promise if I fall and crack my skull, I won't sue. But I can't hold a ladder and books at the same time."

With a deep sigh and a dismissive wave of her hand, Ms. Yumi sent Maka back to work. "Fine, do your little stunts, but do be careful."

"I'm always careful." Maka promised as she returned to the shelves and began climbing up one so she could place the book where it belonged. She found herself cursing her short stature and trying to ignore the fact that she knew Eater would absolutely love watching her struggle like this.

And there he was again, popping up in her thoughts. She didn't exactly enjoy the way Eater seemed to dominate a strong part of her thoughts, but at the same time, she couldn't exactly argue that it was a bad thing. The boy had said he was her friend, and she had over a month of correspondence stuck to her wall, and she was curious about him: he didn't act the way people were supposed to act.

He also stole two of her doodles off the wall, _but_ she figured that was more of a compliment, and completely fair as she had stolen one of his sticky notes too.

She was also wondering how he would respond. He had covered her flowers with his tag, so she had deemed it fair to cover his tag with hers. He wouldn't just spray another tag on the wall would he? She knew Eater was decently wall famous around the part of town she ran off too so she could tag, and she knew his pieces were generally pretty dark, but impressive. Maka was actually incredibly excited to see what he would do back.

She only wished she could go check it out tonight, see if he had started anything.

However, she had plans. She was her father's date to the award's ceremony for the Gang Unit at DCPD for their outstanding work in lessening gang activity as shown in the lowering gang activity, such as graffiti and violence.

Maka enjoyed the irony of that fact.

She sniggered to herself as she climbed back up the shelves again, slipping books in their proper places, and dropping back down to repeat the process.

She'd make her way over to the wall tomorrow morning or night and see what Eater was up to. After all, Eater had no problem hovering over her while she worked; she found it fair to do the same to him.

* * *

Soul was actually caught in a contest between food and words.

A forkful of Thai was poised in front of him mouth, which wouldn't stop spewing words, and Wes was looking at him with the same overly amused look he'd had when Soul had woken up with is breakfast stuck to his face. "You sound less pissed about her covering you this time."

"No, still pissed." Soul promised as he snuck food into his mouth while it was distracted. "But fuck Wes, it took her a _month_ and each line is perfect. Like, it's literal perfection. A little fucking crazy too, but whatever, don't ask me how she pulled that off, it seems almost impossible if I'm being honest." His words weren't stalled by chewing, and his speech seemed less aimed towards Wes, and more at himself. Wes picked at his own food himself, and stared at his little brother.

"I don't understand your description." Wes admitted. "You know I'm not go at art, and while I'm sure you're explaining this perfectly…to yourself…I'm afraid I'm just not quite grasping what you're trying to tell me."

Soul blinked at his brother for a second, before standing up, and bringing the box of take out with him. "Come on."

"Come on? Come on where?" Wes questioned, standing up nonetheless.

"I'll show you. Come on." Soul grinned as he started walking to the door, and Wes only sighed before following his brother out the door, and into the warm night of the Nevada summer. Soul managed to keep himself quiet on the walk over, only occasionally shoving food into his mouth while he led Wes to the wall that Angel had attempted to liberate from his hold.

"You know I don't want to know too much about this little hobby."

"This isn't even my piece, come on!" Soul snorted, dragging his brother farther down the alley. Wes obviously looked uncomfortable with the wall's placement, but he didn't bother lecturing his brother. It wasn't like Soul had listened the thousand other times Wes had tried to argue with him about the same thing, so he didn't bother addressing it now. He was content to just let Wes shoot him a bitchy look, and Soul laughed, and finally stopped in front of Angel's wings. "That's what I was trying to describe." He explained, and shoved more food in his mouth.

Wes stared at the wall in shock, and finally nodded his head. "Yeah, that is more than impressive right there."

"Right?"

"It took her a month?"

"Yup."

"Damn little brother, she's quite the match for you huh?"

"Eh, she's alright." Soul shrugged; face dusting over with red as he picked at his take out box. But when he looked at his brother again, he realized Wes wasn't looking at him, or the art anymore, but at the multicolored collage of sticky notes off to the side.

The blush fell from his face, along with most of his blood.

Wes eyed the sticky notes curiously, before sending the _smuggest_ look Soul had ever seen on the music professor's face. His grin reminded Soul of the Cheshire Cat, and the _look_ in his eyes would probably haunt Soul for years to come. "Fuck."

"Is this art too?"

"Wes…"

"Because I'd know your atrocious handwriting anywhere, little brother, and I see it all over these blue sticky notes."

"I can explain-"

"This handwriting," Wes pulled an orange sticky note from the wall. "Is a girl's handwriting. For sure. And they're all…"

"Stop reading them!"

"Flirty. They are all incredibly flirty." Wes concluded his analysis, stupid grin still plastered on his face. Soul glared down at his big brother, face redder than before.

"Shut up."

"It's Angel, isn't it. That's who wrote these!?" His brother smiled as he kept scanning the wall. "When did this start?"

"…After I met her?"

"You met her!? When did that happen!?"

"About a month ago…"

"And you haven't invited her over for dinner because?"

"Because you live there and we can't cook." Soul deadpanned, chomping down more takeout as he tried to will his heart to start beating again. Wes' face was anything but impressed, so Soul swallowed and tried again. "I only met her once, for about ten minutes." He threw his head in the direction of the wall. "_That's_ how we've been communicating."

"Huh, well, isn't that adorable."

"Shut up Wes."

"No really, adorable." His brother's stupid smirk was back on his face. "You and your little girlfriend have the cutest dates huh?"

"Really? What are we, five?"

"I don't know, your face tells a different story."

"God you suck." Soul growled, and started to draw his brother out of the alley, Wes' laughter following them out.

"Are you really going to cover her back?" Wes asked him once his laughter had finally died down. Soul shrugged, and tossed his fork into his now empty take out box.

"I have to."

"Won't that, you know, cause some tension?"

"I think it'd almost be more disrespectful to not cover her at this point."

"You artists have the weirdest mating rituals."

"Seriously, shut up Wes."

* * *

After Soul slammed the door behind him, Wes turned towards his case with a smile.

His little brother had left, leaving him alone in the apartment while Soul had gone off to start his retaliation against his little Angel's work, and that gave Wes some time to play his violin. He hadn't had much time since he'd last put the grades in for school and with all the meetings he had been asked to attend in the last month, along with working on his Masters, he really didn't have the time he'd like to spend with his instrument, and as he drug the rosin across his bow, he felt the itch in his fingertips.

He really should make more time for this.

Dragging his bow across the strings, his fingers dance, and he realized he was starting to play _Crystillize_, and he smiled, letting the familiar song echo in his room, and take his cares away for a while.

At least, until he heard music join his.

Wes paused, and dropped his bow, trying to figure out where the music was coming from. Finally, his eyes landed on his laptop, and he realized he had a Skype call.

From his mother.

"God, give me strength." He muttered to himself, before playing his bow and violin on his bed, and sitting down at his desk. He accepted the call, and waited while the internet connected them. When it finally did, Wes was face to face with his mother's stomach, while she was leaning back in her chair, and gesturing at the screen to someone Wes couldn't see.

Celeste Evans was dressed in a plain t-shirt, and her snowy white hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She continued to yell at the person off screen while gesturing at the computer.

"Mother?"

She didn't respond.

"Mother, do you have me on mute?" Wes sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He continued to watch until his father's hand came on screen, and pressed a button, and he could suddenly hear his mother again.

"Wesley!"

"Hello mother." He smiled at her, and she smiled back, her blue eyes lighting up at her oldest son's face.

"How are you?! You look so _thin_, are you boys eating alright!?" His mother spoke of thin the way most others spoke of murder. Wes rolled his eyes sighed.

"Yes mother, we're both fine."

"And Soul? He's doing alright too?"

"Yeah, he's doing just fine. Got his grades back the other day, passed every class, he's doing just fine."

Celeste narrowed her eyes on camera, and scowled. "He never calls home."

"Do you expect him too? He hasn't always received such a welcoming vibe." Wes sighed, staring down at the keyboard. His mother's face fell, and she bit her lip. "He misses you though. Told me that the other day, he does miss you guys. He's just been really busy with work, and you know…stuff."

Wes watched as his mother looked up from the computer, listening to whatever his father was telling her. "Your father wants to know how the music's going for the both of you."

"Ah, I was just practicing before you called." Wes smiled. "And Soul's been doing well. I bring him to school with me and he plays there." Wes lied through his smile, and his mother accepted it without a second thought.

"Good, good. So, still single? Or have you finally found a girl and won't leave your poor mother to live out her old years without a grandchild to hold."

"And here I thought this could be a pleasant conversation."

"That is a pleasant conversation. You're a brilliant musician, a college professor, but you're single. Wesley, I need grandchildren or I will die a sad, unhappy woman and I will haunt you for the rest of your lonely, single life."

"Always a ray of sunshine mother."

"I do my best son."

"And no, I'm not seeing anyone right now." Wes sighed, and tried to ignore his mother's scalding look. "I've been busy mother. With life."

"What's the point of life if you don't have children in it!?"

"It's really no surprise you married young."

"Hush up." She ordered her son, and tilted her head. Wes almost had to do a double take; he'd seen his little brother give him that same look so many times. "What about Soul?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure Soul has a girlfriend." Wes smirked, and his mother's face nearly lit up the entirety of the screen she was so close to her computer.

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, he met this girl last month, Angel he calls her. They've been hanging out almost every night. I think he's really into her."

"OH MY GOD WHAT DOES SHE LOOK LIKE? IS SHE CUTE!? TALL?! OH MY GOD."

"I don't know! He hasn't brought her over yet. It's a shame really; I think he's embarrassed of me."

"That doesn't sound like your brother."

"True, but he just refuses to bring her over. Maybe you should tell him that family is important in a relationship too, and I can't wait to meet her."

"That's not a bad idea!" Celeste smiled wide, and Wes matched it, knowing Soul was going to _hate_ him tomorrow.

Absolutely worth it.

"Alright mother, I need to practice some more, but I love you, and I'll talk to you soon."

"Good night sweetie! Tell your brother we love him!"

"I will. Don't forget to call him!"

Celeste waved to her son before the screen went blank and Wes chucked. Picking his violin back up again, he started to play, imagining the scene that would be his little brother's face tomorrow when his mother called.

Wes smiled as he restarted his song from earlier, and enjoyed the way the music echoed through his empty apartment. An apartment that would soon reek of spray paint once his little brother slunk back in at his ungodly hour and it would continue to smell like spray paint until he finished whatever he was working on.

Yeah, preemptive revenge.

Besides, Soul obviously liked that Angel girl, and getting his mother on his ass would just make him move a little faster.

Wes was a good big brother. His methods were just…unorthodox.

* * *

**I know this is where my THANKS YOUS usually go, but I'm not on my normal computer and I don't have anymore time (already been hoarding this computer) but know that I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND I READ EVERY REVIEW, SEVERAL TIMES AND THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. THANK YOU, REALLY. I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THE NEW CHAPTER!**

**THANK YOU!**

**LOVE YOU ALL!**

**-ERIS**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: If Hell Is My Heaven**

* * *

Wes constantly found himself asking how much of the crazy in his little brother's head was art, and how much was just pure insanity.

He hadn't seen Soul once the sun went down for the better part of a week now, and he was starting to get slightly worried. He knew that his little brother had finally covered over Angel's wings enough that he had a background for whatever the main thing he was working on was, and that it wasn't the stupid shit he'd been doing before. Wes could tell the difference; Soul hadn't done a big piece in a while. It had mostly just been street signs designed to give Wes heart attacks on his way to work and maybe his tag here and there. But it had been several months since Soul had started a _project_ and Wes had almost forgotten just how completely immersed in his art Soul could be.

He wasn't even sure Soul had been eating. That didn't fly in Wes' house, because he knew if Soul got too thin their mother, by some terrible Italian instinct, would be able to _sense_ it, and would show up at their door with groceries and stuff them so fucking full they wouldn't be able to move for hours. No, Wes was not putting up with another one of those impromptu visits. Which was why he found himself sitting on top of said little brother in the middle of their living room, while Soul tried desperately to throw him off. Unfortunately, Soul might be taller by an inch, but Wes had more muscle on his frame, and his lanky little brother couldn't get free.

"Oh my God, get off me, fat ass!" Soul growled from underneath Wes, his face shoved into the rug by his big brother's foot resting against his head.

"You have to agree to eat, at the table, like a human being, first."

"I'll agree my foot right up your ass if you don't _let me go_! Come on, I need to get back to my wall!"

"Your wall isn't going anywhere! It's a wall! That's its job! To not go anywhere! You can eat, and it will still be there."

"It's not about the wall running away! It's about…doing…and things…and-I-fuck-GET OFF OF ME"

"You have to agree to eat your dinner like a civilized person."

"Says the bastard sitting on top of me."

"Hey, don't talk about me like I'm the one at fault here, little brother; you're the one who hasn't eaten anything for the last week."

"I've eaten!"

"Barely! Come on Soul, it's not like I'm asking for your kidney, I'm asking to see you eat something."

"I can't give you my kidney! You're _fucking sitting on it._ It's dead now. I only have one good one. Let's hope that rampant drinking thing you have doesn't get much worse."

"That would be my liver, dumb ass, and fuck you very much."

"Get off, Wes! Art!"

"Food, Soul. Food."

Soul finally sighed, and shook his head so Wes' foot fell off, and landed on the rug instead. "Fine, just get the fuck off of me!" Wes finally relented, and rolled off of his brother, more groans and swears following him as he did. Soul pulled himself up to his knees and popped his back. "Dude I can't believe you sat on me."

"I didn't know what else to do, normally feeding you isn't difficult." Wes shook his head and pointed to the box of pizza on the table. "Seriously bro, you just gotta eat, I'm not asking for much here."

"No, I gotta work! Come on Wes! I'm…I'm doing a thing! And I need to finish my piece!"

"The thing can wait until you stuff your face. Good grief, stop bitching."

Soul stood up, and walked over to the table, grabbed a piece of pizza, shoved half of it into his mouth, and shot his brother a pointed look. Wes rolled his eyes, grabbed a can of soda before tossing it at his brother's face. Soul caught it, chugged half, and finished the pizza. "Can I go now?"

"You're a child."

"Wes! Art!" Soul threw his hands up in the air. "_Art_!"

"Fine, go. Take more pizza with you, and go. Be back before morning!" Wes ordered as Soul practically sprinted towards the door.

"Yeah, morning, got it." A slammed door followed quickly and Wes shook his head. He found himself hoping that his little battle with Angel ended at this piece. Whatever the hell Soul was working on, he obviously cared about it, so having it be covered would probably suck for his brother. Then again, it was entirely possible that Soul cared about Angel more than he did this piece too, Wes wasn't sure. All he knew was that they needed Angel's real name by the end of the summer, or both he and his brother would be ready to sell their souls for some information.

Or, in Wes' case, he could sell his Soul.

Finally, a use for his little brother. With no one around to enjoy that pun, Wes groaned and headed back towards his room. Maybe his mother was right, maybe it was time to go out and meet someone again.

* * *

He hated it.

He hated the cobwebby look of the black that dripped and ran from the main piece, as if it were trying to get away as much as he wanted to get away from it. The black ran down in lines, dripping lethargically, running as slowly as blood from a barely healed cut. The black swirled in places with the Royal Red, creating an even darker red born from the conjoined colors. It crept across the wall, tendrils of spider webs and nightmares and the terrifying things that live in the back of everyone's head over taking Angel's wings and smothering them. It was hideous and gave him the chills each time he stepped back to check on his progress.

God, he could barely look at it.

He hated it, God he hated it more than he could justify. The piece that now covered his and Angel's wall taunted him as the wet paint shone in the early morning light. It was still dark enough to remind him of the _years_ spent suffering sleepless nights and shy knocks on his brother's door at three in the morning because he couldn't sleep.

Wes never complained. Wes never complained, or turned Soul away, or told him to go wake up his parents. No, Wes would simply roll out of bed, grab his blanket and follow Soul out the living room, where they would sit in silence watching Iron Chef America for an hour, before Soul would finally break and tell his brother about the nightmares, about the demons that wouldn't let him sleep, and how much he fucking hated the medication his parents insisted he'd try. Njo, he hadn't needed to bother Wes with nightmares since he was 16.

So Wes would stay up with him and listen to his sleep deprived little brother mutter about demons with massive grins, monsters that crawled out of the sea of black blood that drowned his dreams, puppets created in his image, black faces screaming to be heard until Soul finally fell asleep against his brother's side, long line of drool and disgustedly messy bedhead the only indications that he had finally fallen asleep.

He hated thinking about the demon; it just brought him back to those stupid fucking nights where he pulled Wes from sleep and pretended not to cry while they watched Iron Chief. He hated the demon, hated everything the demon stood for.

And he had painted it for Angel.

Growling in his throat, Soul threw the empty can of black spray paint at the wall, and pulled his beanie off of his head, running his hand through his hair quickly. "What the fuck am I doing!? The fuck am I doing!? Real nice dumbass, your first real piece in months, a piece that is _going_ to be seen by people, and it's the fucking monster under the bed. Are you trying to scare her off!?"

Scowl only getting deeper, Soul grabbed his backpack and shoved his beanie back on his head, turning his back to the demon on the wall. He was a fucking idiot for shoving his nightmare into Angel's face. He could barely stomach being around his stupid piece, refusing to stay here any longer than he needed to. Fuck the damn thing, fuck the wall, and fuck it all, he just wanted to go home.

So he did.

He snuck into his house well after two in the morning, and dropped his backpack by the door. Soul slipped into his room and tugged off his shirt, scratching idly at the tattoos on his shoulders. Jumping out of his jeans and tossing his beanie to the side, he crawled into his massive bed, hiding him from the dark and demons best he could.

* * *

It was three thirty in the morning when Wes heard the knocking.

His first thought is that the cops are at his door, telling him that his brother is dead, or hurt again. That panic was enough to make him fly from sleep, eyes darting around his room quickly. The knocking happened again, and Wes let himself relax when he realized the knock was on his door, already in the apartment.

Trying to rub sleep off his face, he opened his door, and smiled at his brother. Soul couldn't meet his eyes, only scratched at his head. They were both silent for a moment before his brother finally sighed. "Can't, uh…can't sleep. I'm not…I couldn't…I had a nightmare." Soul stuttered; face slowly turning red as he admitted as much to his brother. Wes was surprised; Soul hadn't dragged him out of bed for a nightmare in almost four years. But, Wes was also an old pro at this, so he nodded, and jerked his head towards the living room. Soul smiled gratefully, returned to his room to grab the comforter off of his bed, and then joined his big brother on the couch while Wes searched through the channels for Iron Chef.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" Wes lifted an eyebrow, and Soul growled.

"I painted the, you know, the thing."

"Sorry?"

"_The Thing_." Soul covered his face with his hands, and sighed while the people on TV fought over what dish to make. "Remember The Thing?"

"Oh, yes. I remember the thing." Wes sighed along with his brother. The Thing was the little creature Soul had used to tell him lived in his head. "Why did you draw that?"

"Well, I didn't start out drawing that…it just happened."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I might be trying to scare Angel away."

"What?! Why would you do that? I thought you liked her."

"So did I." Soul grumbled, and wrapped his blanket around him again, making Wes' overgrown little brother look like the tiny little shrimp he had been when he was little. "But, you know, I'm me. So…you know?"

"…Soul, she'll cover your piece, you know that right?"

"Good. Let her fucking cover it, let her cover the damn thing in flowers, or rainbows or fucking ponies, let it scare her so fucking much she never wants to come back to my fucking wall and-"

Wes brought his hand on top of his brother's head, and Soul stopped his ranting. "Okay, breathe Soul. Breathe…are you breathing?"

"Yes."

"Okay, little brother, you don't want to scare this girl away do you?"

"Doesn't matter now, does it? It's already up on the wall, and I can't get it back down." Soul muttered, sinking lower into his blanket, his knees up against his chest and he rested his chin on them. Wes frowned, and threw his arm around his younger brother.

"It'll be okay, you know? You're gonna be okay."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks Wes."

"Anytime little brother." Wes smiled and returned to the TV. An hour later, he found himself half nodding off while Bobby Flay did amazing things with potatoes and he shifted slightly. He looked down next to him, and smiled when he saw his brother's face smashed into his shoulder, line of drool from his mouth to his pillow. Wes snorted as he reached for the remote, and shut the TV off. He felt bad that his brother couldn't sleep, and that he'd been having his nightmares again, but he was kind of glad that four years later, his little brother still trusted him enough to come to him with the nightmare and Soul's old demon.

Wes yawned himself, and settled back into the couch for what would be the sorest neck he'd ever have in the morning, but as long as Soul stayed asleep, he didn't really care. "Guess I'll never have to worry about you outgrowing me huh, little brother."

* * *

The stagnant wind that pushed through Death City almost made the cobwebs on the wall move.

Maka knew she had been standing there too long, eyeing the demon that had taken up residence on her wall. It was terrifying, the creature giggling at her while the wind only seemed to give a logical reason for the sudden chill down her spine. Slowly Maka pushed her bangs off of her forehead, and tugged on the braid that fell over her shoulder. Hesitantly, she reached towards the wall, and traced the cobwebby design around the demon with her fingers.

Artistically, she was absolutely impressed with the piece Eater had shown on his wall. The jagged lines, the blending of color between black, and red she wasn't sure she had ever seen before. The art was amazing, there was no denying that, but there was something off in this specific piece that made her nearly tremble when she looked at it.

Maka didn't grow up scared of monsters under the bed; she didn't grow up scared of robbers, or kidnappers, she was too smart for that. She was too smart for a few different ghost stories, but she did have a healthy fear of evil. Not the kind that stemmed from the Brothers Grimm, but rather the kind of evil that had caused the bags under her father's eyes, and the sleepless nights he often had, nursing a drink in his hand. Evil that humanity was capable of, that's what scared Maka. The things that people could do to their brothers, that's what scared Maka. Women who killed their children, and showed no remorse, men that forced girls into the sex industry, under the guise of trying to help them, boys that beat their friends and recorded it so that people on the internet could laugh. The evil that men do, the evil that they had never been taught, and the demon on the wall seemed to encompass every single evil she had ever feared.

The demon smiled. He smiled like he knew something terrible. It made her unjustifiably angry, the smirk on his face, and she found herself calculating ways to make it stop, to make it disappear. She just wanted him _silenced_, the laughing she heard in her head had to be silenced.

Covering him would do nothing. The demon would still exist, evil always existed even when it couldn't be seen; he would always exist. Evil couldn't be killed. The darkness in men's hearts would always outlast the very people it hid inside. The demon, he would still survive under the paint, hiding in the shadows, the demon would still be in Eater's head. Maka wouldn't wish that on anyone. She knew from what little her father would tell her about her cases that covering evil didn't make it any better, evil needed to be countered with hope, or understanding. The good that people were capable of.

Covering this demon would do nothing.

But that didn't mean she was going to do nothing.

* * *

That was the third time that night she had sent her father away after he had come to check on her.

Apparently her "creative process" for her response to Eater wasn't as internal as she had thought if her father's worried face when he popped his head into her room was any indication. He'd only looked at her confused, and she had sighed, explaining how she was trying to come up with something to scare the demons away. Her father, for his credit, hadn't sent her to the nuthouse. Instead, he came back to her room with three cookies, handed them to her, and went about his business. It was kind of him, since it probably wasn't the last time Maka would throw her sketchbook across the room, ranting about demons. It was tonight though, she couldn't handle this anymore. The quick sketch she had done on the paper of Eater's demon wasn't nearly as terrifying as his, but it still made her shudder. She ran her fingers over her tiny demon on the paper, and slammed the sketchbook closed. It was keeping her up, and she couldn't even imagine how Eater was handling it. The stupid thing _lived_ in his head.

Maka wondered about that too, what kind of man Eater was. She had only met him once and all he had done was insult her height and tell her to be careful on her way home. He was usually prompt about answering their sticky note conversations and he had promised that he was her friend; as unconventional as their friendship was. But then he carried around something like _that_ in his head. What kind of man could carry that around and not go crazy?

_Man's inhumanity towards man._

The artist had studied that extensively, in both her philosophy classes and in her conversations with her father when he was a little too drunk to care about separating his home life from his work life. She'd spent a million conversations with professors and classmates about what people could do to other people. And...everyone carried it. Everyone carried this evil in their heads, and Maka knew that Eater would be no different. In fact, it seemed that he had isolated that evil, he knew it was real. That was more than a lot of people could say.

"Fuck," She groaned, and leaned over her bed to toss the sketchbook under it. her fingers jammed into a heavy tome, and she whimpered, trying to shake the pain out of her hand. "Come here you." Maka muttered as she pulled the old book out from under her bed. The yellowed pages looked dull in her room and she held it against her chest. It had been her mother's book and she had given it to Maka when she had left to see the world. Inside were yellowed characters and scribbled English translations next to them, each one depicting the meaning of a certain flowers.

Looking up from the book to her walls, Maka eyed the several pressed flowers she had encased in glass and silver frames. Some of them were older, done when her mother had still lived at home, and she had insisted Maka learn _Ikebana_, or flower arranging. It was something her mother had loved to do with her mother back in Japan, and she wanted her daughter to have that piece of culture with her.

Every flower on her wall meant something different. Most of the were from the flowers Maka's mother had left on her bed before she left. _Fond wishes, maternal affection, bonds, intellect_. The flowers her mother had left her painted a love note, topped off with a peony at the very top. Maka had wrinkled her nose at the peony. It had meant masculinity last she had checked, but written in the old book that she currently held in her hands, Maka's mother had penned the word "bravery, shame, bashfulness" next to the japanese writing, along with a tiny message for her daughter.

_Always be brave, Maka girl. Never choose shame over courage. _

Maka ran her hand over the old cover of the book and smiled faintly. That was how her mother showed love, it was how her mother had been able to best bond with her daughter. Flowers. She wondered about her mother often, wondered what flowers she had been able to collect during her never ending vacation.

That very first piece she did, nearly two months ago, the flowers over the broken city...she had drawn those flowers because she missed her mother. She missed her mother so much, and that was the easiest way she could think to do it. Four giant flowers that helped warm the cold patch in their home her mother had caused when she had left them.

And Eater had covered them, like it was some kind of game.

It had been a raw hurt, to see them gone like that. But Eater had more than paid his pound of flesh for that by putting his demon on the wall. He might not have realized it, but Maka bared her soul to the world with those flowers, and he'd selfishly covered them. Now, he was vulnerable and Maka had no desire to hurt him. She just wanted to help him, bring him some peace. She just _didn't know how-_

The book in her hand was suddenly heavy. Her breathing stopped and she could've beaten herself over the head with the book in her hand. Flipping rapidly through the pages, she looked for the characters she needed, her mother's slanted handwriting right next to it.

"Perfect." she smiled to herself, and reached back under her bed, ripping the sketchbook back out.

It was perfect, and it was the best she could do for the demon, and for Eater.

Now, she just needed to find that same red Eater used.

**Thanks for being patient! I'm sorry it took so long to get this out here! Blame my two jobs! I hope you enjoy! Really! Also, sorry I couldn't respond to the reviews, but really!? 91!? thank you all SO SO SO MUCH!**

**-Eris**


End file.
